


Only the Moon Howls

by miserylovedme



Category: Bandom
Genre: Creepy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 14:34:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4308843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miserylovedme/pseuds/miserylovedme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marshall decides not to tell any of them what he saw. He doesn’t sleep much after that and never without the light on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only the Moon Howls

**Author's Note:**

> I once used to write in bandom on lj under this name. Nothing has been edited since this work was originally posted, so please forgive any errors or potential grammar mistakes. decided to move the few stories worth keeping over here and delete my lj. If you used to read me back there, hello, again! 
> 
> Original post date: 9.29.08

It starts with nightmares.

Marshall dreams that he’s alone in the woods, it’s light enough that he can see through the trees but not enough that he can find his way out. Something is moving steadily closer and he can hear birds—crows—cawing in the distance just before it goes dark. He stands there, panting and shaking and realizes that he’s suddenly freezing. Whatever is moving around gets closer and closer and Marshall’s heart throbs in his throat and then it grabs him and he wakes up choking on a scream.

Marshall pushes himself up in bed and Ian stirs beside him, placing a hand on his arm. Marshall jumps, pulls away and gazes down at Ian with eyes so wide and fearful that Ian can obviously see through the darkness of the room; can tell how freaked out he is.

“Woah, hey,” Ian mumbles, struggling up beside him, rubbing hard at his eye with one hand and reaching to click on the bedside light with the other. Marshall cringes, blinking rapidly, still breathing a little too hard. His blood feels like ice in his veins; he rubs at his arms. “Hey,” Ian repeats, cautiously placing his hand on Marshall’s back and rubbing a little when he doesn’t shrug him off again. “You okay?”

Marshall nods, staring down at the blanket pooled at his waist. “’m fine.” He’s aware of how hoarse and not-fine he sounds.

Ian looks at him a little longer. “You want something to drink?” Marshall shakes his head. “All right.” Ian drops contact and Marshall finally looks down at him as he squirms back into his pillows and holds out his arms. “C’mere.”

Marshall wants to resist, wants to tell him he doesn’t need to be held to fall back asleep, but Ian’s the kind of person who overheats in his sleep and Marshall is the kind whose body temperature plummets when he lies down. He’s cold. He still hesitates a moment before turning onto his side and pressing himself in against Ian.

Ian jumps a little when Marshall pushes his frigid fingers under his side and nuzzles into his bare chest. “Shit, you’re gonna give me hypothermia.” Marshall smiles a little and Ian mumbles, “Hey.”

When Marshall tips his head up to meet his gaze Ian ducks down and kisses him. Marshall lets his fingers twist lightly through Ian’s curls and then drops his head back to his chest. Ian situates the covers back up around them before he reaches back over and turns out the light.

Marshall clenches his eyes against the darkness and concentrates on how warm Ian is against him, the arms wrapped around him. When he thinks about it, he realizes he can’t remember the dream hardly at all. Not that he wants to.

Ian’s hands rub at his shoulder and upper arm, squeezing and massaging just lightly enough that it relaxes him. It doesn’t take him too long to fall back asleep.

 

\--

 

The nighttime troubles really only get worse from there.

If it’s not Marshall waking up gasping for breath, his skin crawling, heart hammering in his chest, then it’s Ian shaking him awake, leaning up over him with wide eyes and fingers digging into his arms.

Marshall remembers a little about each dream but never enough. Just flashes. Birds and the darkness, hands grabbing him. Shadows moving and water dripping. Sometimes there’s blood. Not a lot, just under fingernails and the kind that comes from scraping your knee on pavement. He can’t ever remember why, though. Whenever that happens, Marshall usually wakes with blood sticky on his upper lip and trailing off down his cheek.

Ian gets him up and into the bathroom before he’s even really awake on his feet, fear still gripping him and making him want to shove Ian off. He doesn’t want to be touched right after; but being touched by Ian means not being alone. And the last thing Marshall really wants is to be alone when he wakes up.

Ian sits him on the bathroom counter just before dawn one morning, dark circles under his eyes and hair standing on end. Marshall can smell his own sweat on Ian’s skin, see where he’d bitten into Ian’s shoulder when he came earlier. His teeth impressions are dark red and bruising purple at the edges. Marshall winces when Ian lifts his arm to wipe at the blood still running from his nose, watching the skin stretch. Ian doesn’t seem to care though.

“I can do it,” Marshall mumbles, reaching for the washcloth and tipping his head back.

Ian sighs, letting go and bracing one hand on the counter and rubbing at his cheek with the other. Marshall can barely see it when he trails his fingers over the bite mark. Marshall closes his eyes. “Sorry.” He sounds nasally.

Ian shrugs, leaning in and pressing his forehead to Marshall’s shoulder before he yawns. Marshall lets his head rest against the mirror and scratches at Ian’s head with his free hand. Ian curls both arms around his waist and just stands there between Marshall’s thighs, breathing against his throat.

“Wish you’d tell me,” Ian says, muffled and quiet.

Marshall doesn’t open his eyes. “I told you I don’t remember once I wake up.” It’s not a lie, not entirely.

Ian makes a grunting sound and pulls back, looks at Marshall. They stare at one another until Marshall pulls the washcloth back and sits up straight again. He waits a moment to see if the flow has stopped. He wipes his face with the unused part of the cloth before setting it down in the sink and pulling Ian in closer. He kisses him slowly, lips gentle and open to the easy slide of Ian’s tongue pushing in between them.

Ian moans lightly, pulling Marshall closer until Marshall wraps his legs around Ian’s waist.

Marshall’s cock twitches a little. He’d love to go again, loved to get fucked in his own bed, _their_ bed, but he’s not sure he can get it up. He’s so tired and his nose aches a little. Eventually Ian eases back, pressing light kisses to his mouth and soothing a hand down his throat.

He doesn’t resist when Ian takes his hand, pulls him down and leads him back into the bedroom.

They crawl into bed together, pulling the covers up and Marshall curls into Ian’s side again, tucking his fingers into the waistband of Ian’s sweats. Ian drapes an arm across his shoulders and reaches for the light.

“Don’t,” Marshall says quietly, eyes shut so he doesn’t have to see Ian’s face. “Leave it.”

He can feel Ian hesitate, imagines his arm is still stretched out. “The sun’ll be up soon,” he says.

Marshall pulls his shoulders up higher and bunches his forehead. He’d really, _really_ love to tell Ian okay, turn it off. But, “Please.”

Ian sighs heavily and rolls, turns onto his side, pushing Marshall onto his side as well until they’re facing one another and Marshall has to look at him. Ian doesn’t look amused or pissed or anything. He just looks worried and Marshall kisses him so he doesn’t have to look anymore.

Ian breaks away first, nudging his knee between Marshall’s thighs and cupping the back of his neck. He doesn’t say anything, he just closes his eyes. So Marshall does too.

 

\--

 

Marshall and Ian are the only ones who live on their own. The rest of the guys still live at home. Ian moved permanently down from Seattle when Marshall mentioned wanting to move out seven months earlier. They’d found the apartment, close enough to Marshall’s house that his mom doesn’t worry constantly, but still far enough away that she doesn’t drop by all the time either. Marshall likes to think it’s kind of perfect that way. Ian’s mom calls a lot, though, and his sister had come down and stayed with them for a week when they got back from the last tour. Marshall doesn’t mind; he’d miss Ian if he didn’t have him all the time too.

The guys come over more often than Marshall had really thought they would. Contrary to popular belief they can function without the other four around them. They don’t hang out at every available opportunity and they’re not constantly attached at the hip. But they are all best friends and as the only two with their own place, their apartment has taken on the duty of being their main hangout location.

Ian and Johnson had run out to get some weed and promised to grab Chinese or something for dinner because Marshall doesn’t eat a whole lot and Ian eats everything around him when he’s high. So on the whole their kitchen is fairly devoid of food.

Marshall is in the bedroom, shifting through the top drawer of his half of the dresser for his blue and gray striped tank-top—the one Ian likes because it shows off the dip of his collarbones; Marshall plans on getting laid tonight—when he hears the knock at the door.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, lifting up another pile of shirts. “The door’s open!” he shouts. Singer is always early for this kind of shit. Marshall shoves the drawer closed and pulls open the next one down. Maybe it got mixed in with Ian’s shirts. The knock repeats itself. “I said it’s open!” he yells again, louder. “Fuck, Singer.”

Marshall growls at the dresser. He slams the drawer and yanks open the top one again. He _just_ did laundry, he just saw the fucking thing. The knock comes again, loud and banging and Marshall jumps a little, finally just grabbing the shirt off the top and shoving the drawer shut again. “Fucking shit,” he mumbles. Marshall really doesn’t swear this much.

He’s in the process of tugging the shirt down over his head when he gets to the door and pulls it open, already talking, “Did you forget your hearing aid?”

Marshall blinks into the empty hallway, hands on the hem of his shirt, still pulled up, exposing his belly. He stands still before smoothing his shirt down and leaning out, looking up and down the hall. The light at the far end over the stairs flickers a little, but there’s no one there, though.

Marshall swallows, his heart picking up and stepping back inside, closing the door and locking it. He really wishes Ian was home. Marshall forces himself to think it’s someone’s kids messing around and heads back for the hallway.

He’s right by the hall closet when the knocking comes again, fast and hard against the door and Marshall jumps, heart shooting up into his throat. “What the fuck,” he whispers, reaching for the hall light and flicking it on, even though it’s still dusk outside, the sky orange and pink; he can see it through the open shades covering the sliding glass door.

His knees feel weak but he moves towards the door again, watches the handle move up and down a little, hearing it catch on the lock. Marshall practically lunges forward shoves the chain lock on. The knocking and movement stops.

Marshall stands there, one shaking hand on the door and the other on the deadbolt. The peep hole is right by his head, he could look out now. He could see whoever is out there fucking with him.

Another loud set of knocks makes him cry out a little, jump back away from the door. “Stop it!” he shouts. “Whoever the fuck that is, I’m calling the cops!”

Marshall watches the handle jitter again before the sound cuts off and everything goes still and quiet again. Marshall stands there, hand on his chest and the other on the wall. He needs to look, he needs to see whoever is out there. He steps towards the door, reaching out and pressing the tips of his fingers to the cold metal. He can do this; it’s just some kid.

He takes a deep breath, unhooks the chain and puts a hand on the handle again. Marshall swallows, his throat dry and leans in and the knock comes again. Marshall tears open the door and both he and Cash jump, shout a little.

“Holy shit, Marshall,” Cash gasps, clutching his chest dramatically. “Were you lurking behind the door, waiting for me?”

“Was that you?” Marshall snaps, voice still breathless.

“Was what me?”

“Banging on the door.”

“Just now?” Cash asks, confused.

Marshall pushes the door open. “You scared the shit out of me.”

Cash steps in and toes off his shoes, tossing his hoodie down on top of them. Marshall and Ian really haven’t gone furniture shopping yet; even though they’ve lived here for close to a year. “I just got here, dude.”

Marshall’s heart still won’t quite resume a normal rhythm. But Cash is already sitting on the floor in front of the TV, fiddling with the 360 and asking about food and whether or not anyone is bringing alcohol. It’s annoying, having Cash lean back against the couch, dig through the stack of magazines on the floor, fling his socks in the direction of his shoes, spread himself out like he does, but he’s not alone anymore and that’s the important part.

It takes Ian pushing through the door with Johnson in tow, each carrying a plastic bag filled with takeout from Marshall’s favorite Chinese place—which is about a half hour away—for him to really calm down. He smiles and Ian comes right over, setting the bag on the floor and crawls on top of him, pushing him down on the couch and kissing him.

Marshall laughs against his lips. Ian gets grabby when he’s smashed. And judging by the sweet smell of Ian’s hair and the taste of pot on his tongue, he’s pretty smashed. Ian giggles—fucking _giggles_ —into his mouth and pushes both hands up his shirt, thumbs grazing over his nipples, making Marshall arch against him and pull him down closer.

“Jesus fuck, you two, either get a room or let me join,” Cash says, reaching behind himself to flail his hand at them. “That or share the weed; you reek.”

Ian pulls back, sitting on his heels, straddling Marshall’s hips. “Who says we have any left?” Ian asks, bouncing a little on the cushions before stumbling back to his feet and over to where Johnson is sitting on the floor, digging through Styrofoam containers and setting out plastic forks. “Holy shit, I’m hungry.”

Marshall puts in a movie before joining them on the floor and spearing pieces of orange chicken with his chopsticks.

Singer shows up a while later with a hickey and a bottle of Jager and Marshall forgets about the knocking.

 

\--

 

He never did find the blue and black tank-top he was looking for but it definitely doesn’t stop him from getting laid.

They all do a few shots and Ian kills everyone at _Call of Duty_ before they end up leaving the guys in the living room and sneaking off to their bedroom. They makeout for a while on top of the covers, Marshall on Ian, grinding his dick down against Ian’s and Ian pushing back against him. Their sounds aren’t really muffled but the door’s locked and it’s their apartment so whatever.

Ian pushes Marshall’s shirt up, rubs his fingers over Marshall’s sides and down into the back of his pants, squeezing his ass; or what he can reach of it anyway. They both fumble at Marshall’s belt before he finally rolls onto his side and just shoves his jeans down, kicking them onto the floor while Ian squirms out of his. Marshall ends up tugging them the rest of the way off for him when they get stuck on his thighs.

“Too tight,” Marshall mumbles, crawling back up his body and kissing him once they’re both naked.

Ian sighs, reaching down between them. He takes their dicks in one of his hands and strokes them together. “I don’t ever—fuck—want to hear you complain about that.”

Marshall shakes his head and starts mouthing at Ian’s cheek, over to his ear. “That wasn’t a complaint. Get ‘em tighter, I don’t care.”

Ian groans, letting go of their cocks and reaching for the nightstand. Marshall ends up having to be the one to lean over the edge of the bed and dig through for the tube of lube they both know is in there.

He sits back up, Ian steadying his hips and rocking up against him. Marshall rubs back for a minute, looking down, watching Ian watch how their cocks slide together. His eyes are dark and damp and his cheeks are flushed red, lips swollen from Marshall biting them. He looks like fucking sin.

“Okay, stop, stop,” Marshall breathes suddenly, bearing down on Ian’s hips. “’m gonna come.”

Ian laughs a little breathlessly and pushes his head back into the pillows. “Lube,” he says, holding out a hand and Marshall drops the tube onto his palm. Ian lifts his head again and squints through the darkness at it. “Shit, we need more.”

Marshall laughs, aware of the edge of desperation it carries. “C’mon, seriously.” He rocks forward a little and Ian springs back into action, popping the cap and squeezing from the bottom up, forcing what’s left out onto his fingers and spreading it, waiting for it to warm.

“We gotta get more tomorrow. Or later tonight, shit.”

“Ian,” Marshall groans.

“Lift.”

Marshall pushes himself up and groans loudly when Ian’s slick fingers trail down his ass and rub over his hole. Ian just presses for a moment, alternating between his middle and ring finger and Marshall leans back into it. Ian keeps pressing though, rubbing around and Marshall snaps, slapping his shoulder, “Holy shit, come _on_.”

Ian doesn’t laugh but he grins, pushing in with both fingers and Marshall jerks forward, gasping out a desperate breath. “ _Ian_.”

“You said come on,” Ian whisper, forcing his fingers wider, stretching and scissoring. Marshall whimpers, eyes clenched. He leans forward until his forehead is pressed to Ian’s shoulder and Ian bites at his cheek.

Marshall shivers when Ian leads his other hand down, rubs at his ass with it before pressing another finger in; dry and too fast. Marshall whines but keeps pushing back into it.

Ian groans this time. “God, you’re fucking hot, Alex.” He bites Ian’s throat. “I love watching you; you love it, don’t you?” Ian stretches his fingers wide and Marshall lets out a shaky cry that doesn’t sound completely pleased. Another finger pushes in and Marshall feels so full, too full almost, but he wants more, he wants Ian’s dick inside of him.

“Please,” Marshall gasps, laving his tongue over the new bite mark he just left and the old one, hidden half underneath the new swelling. “Ian, please.”

Ian doesn’t make him wait, doesn’t tease anymore, which is a little surprising, but Marshall is so fucking glad for it, so relieved when Ian pulls his fingers out. He holds Marshall open with two fingers on both sides of his hole and guides his cock in with the other hand.

Marshall groans a little hysterically when the head slips in; they don’t usually do this without condoms. “Ian, we—”

“Shh,” Ian whispers, sliding in the rest of the way and Marshall’s face contorts, mouth twisting as he takes Ian’s cock.

He whimpers when Ian pushes him down, when Ian’s fully inside of him. “Shit,” Marshall breathes; it always feels different, better, almost like it’s more than usual. But still, they probably shouldn’t. “Ian,” he says, just as breathily as before.

Ian takes his face in both hands—which is a little gross and a lot hot—and kisses him, wet and deep and so fucking perfect. He lets Marshall be the one to sit back, start the rocking motions of their hips. Ian just lays beneath him, holding his thighs and letting Marshall get comfortable. It’s hot like this, Ian under him, inside of him, letting him control it.

Marshall tips his head back, baring his throat and rocking a little harder, just back and forth for a while. Ian groans, hands skimming up to his hips and holding on there; his palms are sweaty and it makes Marshall shiver.

“Alex, baby, please—” Marshall looks down through half-open eyes; Ian never calls him that, “little faster.”

Marshall shudders, picks himself up and drops back down. Ian groans loudly this time, fingers digging in and hips pushing up. Marshall rocks back and forth, pulling up a little every few thrusts of Ian’s hips until Ian is moving continuously beneath him, restless and whining. “Marshall, here, just—let me.”

Marshall doesn’t protest, just shifts forward when Ian bends his knees, planting his feet on the bed, and starts thrusting. Marshall falls into rhythm, riding him smoothly. He squirms when Ian finds the right angle to hit his prostate and stays there. “Ian,” he gasps, his cock getting a little harder, verging on painful, dripping onto Ian’s belly. He doesn’t want to come yet. “I’m not gonna—you gotta stop.”

Ian just squints up at him, panting through his open mouth and asks, “There?”

Marshall cries out when Ian thrust in hard. He grabs at one of Ian’s hands and places the other on his chest, holding himself steady to take it. “Ian, please. I can’t—”

“Come for me, Marsh,” Ian growls, reaching between them with his lube-slick hand and grasping his cock. He pulls quickly and Marshall is crying out with every thrust and it’s really impossible that the guys aren’t hearing them right now.

Marshall feels his balls tighten, feels himself leaking over Ian’s fingers and his prostate is still being struck on almost every push. He stares off into the room, mouth open and eyes hazy, unable to focus on anything but the intense pleasure of Ian inside him, touching him. He blinks and looks down, wants to see himself come on Ian’s belly.

Ian thumbs the head of his cock and Marshall comes, spurting up to Ian’s chest and shouting his name. Ian fucks him through it, fast and hard and tugging his cock until the aftershocks stop.

Marshall looks up at Ian when he thinks he can see again and he nearly screams. It’s not Ian staring back at him. It’s something else entirely. His eyes are gone, just black circles in his face and his jaw looks like it’s unhinged, blood leaking over his face and he grips Marshall’s shoulders, pulls him down and Marshall does scream. He closes his eyes and hits him, lashes out, shoves and kicks, tries to get away.

“ _Marshall!_ ” Ian is shouting at him, shaking him and he can hear other voices, someone yelling from the hallway.

Marshall’s lungs are burning and he finally gasps in a breath. It aches as much as it feels good. Ian looks terrified, face pale and eyes wide and, “Holy shit, holy shit,” he says, keeps repeating it, even as he smoothes back Marshall’s hair and then clings to him. “Oh my god, Marshall, what the fuck. You scared the shit out of me.” Marshall laughs. He doesn’t mean to but seriously? Ian pulls back, looking scared and pissed. “What the fuck was that?”

Marshall’s heart is still throbbing in his chest and he can’t really inhale without it hurting but at least… at least Ian is back.

Someone knocks on the door again. “Is that just really kinky sex or are you two killing each other?” Cash.

“Fuck off!” Ian yells back.

“Fuck you!” Cash shouts. “Marshall, are you dead?”

It takes Marshall three tries to get the words out. “I’m fine.” He slumps back into the bed, rubbing hard at his eyes and blinking at the black spots that creates. Ian has turned the light on, is still kneeling up over him. “What happened?”

Ian still looks absolutely terrified. “I don’t know, you just freaked on me. You came and then when I did you started screaming and hitting me. Then you just kinda fell over and stopped breathing for a second.”

Marshall stares at him, feels his cheeks heating up. “What the hell.” It’s not even a question. He rubs at his eyes again before he realizes that means he can’t see and opens them. “I don’t know what happened,” he finally says, throat aching a little.

“You were screaming like I was trying to kill you or something,” Ian says, looking down and licking his bottom lip.

Marshall can see where it’s split on the side. He sits up so fast it makes his head ache. “I did that?” he asks. Ian nods and covers it with his fingers.

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” Marshall insists, pulling his hand away and climbing into Ian’s lap, hugging him tightly. He feels a little ridiculous since they’re both naked and Marshall’s ass is still slick with lube and jizz but he doesn’t care enough. Ian hugs him back.

“You scared the fuck out of me,” Ian mumbles into his neck.

Marshall pets at his hair, keeping his eyes open, staring over his shoulder at Ian’s side of the bed. “I’m sorry.” He pulls back, rubs his thumb lightly over the cut and leans in to kiss it. Ian opens his mouth and kisses back, pushing in gently with his tongue; Marshall sucks on it, holds onto his neck. “I’m sorry,” he says again.

Ian nods and kisses his shoulder, leaning his head there for a while before they get up to shower.

Marshall decides not to tell any of them what he saw. He doesn’t sleep much after that and never without the light on.

 

\--

 

Marshall starts going out more.

Not a lot, not out to clubs or to get drunk or anything. Just out. He goes for drives, mostly with Ian, starts making them eat out more often, goes to the movies or the mall. Just wanders the strip with his sunglasses on and his hair down over his forehead. It’s not that he gets recognized all the time or anything, but every once in a while, and when he’s with Ian, he really doesn’t want to. It’s just that the apartment is starting to creep him out.

Sometimes they crash over at Cash’s house, sleep on his floor and Marshall never has the nightmares there.

What’s worse than that, though, is that Marshall is starting to turn away when Ian tries to touch him. It’s not that he wants to, it’s not that at fucking _all_. He just can’t kiss Ian without seeing that face. Whatever it was that was there with him was not Ian. It scares him to even think about. It scares him to think he might be losing Ian to this too.

They’re just sitting on the couch, watching some true crime show when Ian leans in, kisses his neck. Marshall shivers a little, smiles, because it feels okay, it feels good. Ian pulls him closer, starts sucking lightly, nipping and kissing at his skin. Marshall turns, kisses him, sucks his tongue into his mouth and cards his fingers into Ian’s hair.

Ian groans, tilting his head for a better angle, pulls Marshall closer. They sit there, trading shallow, wet kisses; the sounds of their lips meeting, damp and loud in his ears are more of a turn on than anything. He focuses on that, moaning lightly, rubbing his thumb against Ian’s stubble. Marshall turns, bringing a knee up onto the couch and leaning into him.

He’s just starting to get hard, Ian’s hand rubbing at his cock through his jeans, when the lights flicker.

Marshall freezes, his blood instantly running cold, and he pulls back.

Ian opens his eyes, cheeks a little flushed and lips wet. “What?” he asks, hand still on Marshall’s dick. Marshall pulls it away by his wrist, looking around the room. “Hey,” Ian says, shaking Marshall’s hand off his and turning Marshall’s head by his chin so they’re looking at each other. “What’s wrong?”

Marshall hesitates, trying to think, trying to rationalize. How did he even know the lights flickered with his eyes shut? He must have imagined it. “Nothing,” he says, clearing his throat and reaching up to twist his fingers with Ian’s. “Thought I heard something.”

Ian doesn’t look like he’s buying it for a second, but then he’s leaning in again and Marshall is opening to his tongue and kissing him back. It’s been almost two weeks since the last time they had sex. Real sex. Not the handjobs they’ve been trading since Marshall’s freak out.

Ian has been patient, scared to set him off and Marshall is really tired of being afraid. He just wants to get over this.

The lights go out.

Marshall pulls back. “Oh my god.”

“Hey,” Ian says, still holding onto his arms. Marshall can’t even see him, it’s so dark. “It’ll come back on, chill.” He holds tight and Marshall grips his forearms. His heart is beating wildly, out of control in his chest. “I’m gonna grab a flashlight,” Ian says, squeezing before starting to let go.

Marshall reaches out, grabs his shirt. “No, don’t.”

“Marshall—”

“Please.”

“Marshall, shit, just hold on.” Ian shakes him off and Marshall waits, hears him shuffle off slowly in the darkness. He doesn’t move. His hearing is strained, listening for sounds, but he realizes suddenly that he can’t hear anything.

“Ian?” he calls. Nothing. “Ian?” Marshall’s arms prick and he wants to pick his feet up from the floor, wants to curl up on the couch. “ _Ian_?” he doesn’t try to stop himself from sounding desperate.

That’s when he realizes that he can see light from under the slatted curtains covering the sliding glass door. The parking lot lights are still on. He narrows his eyes and forces himself to stand. Why isn’t the power out throughout the complex?

He puts a hand on the wall and pushes the curtain back. It’s so easy to see the figure standing behind him. He screams and then there’re hands on him and Ian’s pushing him against the door, grabbing for his arms and dropping the flashlight on his foot. “Marshall, fuck, Marshall, it’s me, holy shit.”

Marshall gasps for breath and Ian grabs the sides of his face. “Breathe, breathe, Alex. Don’t do this again.” Marshall makes himself breathe, grips at Ian’s arms and Ian leans in, holds him there. “Say something.”

He tries, he really does, he slips his hands up over Ian’s shoulders and buries his face in his throat. He’s mortified when he starts to cry. It only freaks Ian out further. “Ian,” he finally whispers.

“Oh my fucking god, Marshall, what the hell is going on?”

The lights flick once, twice and then go back on. Marshall is afraid to open his eyes, afraid to look at Ian. He just clings. It’s a long time before Ian can get him to let go.

 

\--

 

The next evening, when Marshall wakes up—because he’d refused to sleep until the sun came up—Ian asks him to talk to him. Marshall still can’t. He still doesn’t know what the fuck is happening to him. He doesn’t want Ian to think he’s losing his mind.

“Nothing—”

“Don’t say nothing is wrong because, holy shit, I’m really not that stupid.” Ian looks pissed. “Just tell me.” Marshall rolls his lips inward and bites them. He looks down and then back at where Ian is holding one of his hands. “Please.”

Marshall lets out a shaky exhale. “I don’t know.”

“Try to tell me.”

Marshall pulls his hand back. “I can’t. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong.”

Ian’s sigh is angry, frustrated. He leans forward and rubs at his eyes. “Will you talk to someone?”

It takes a moment for Marshall to understand what he’s saying. “I don’t need a shrink.”

“You fucking need something,” Ian snaps. “I don’t know what to do anymore. You don’t sleep, you don’t want me to touch you and you’ve had two huge freak outs that I know about. There is something massively not right going on here.”

“I don’t want to talk to someone.”

“Why?” Ian presses. “At the very least they can give you something to help you sleep.” Marshall stands up and heads for the hallway. “Marshall.”

“This conversation is over.”

Ian follows him, grabs his arm and pulls him back. “It’s really not.”

Marshall twists and when Ian doesn’t let go he shoves him back. Ian hits the wall hard and slumps down a little, hands flying out to brace himself against the drywall and he stares up at Marshall.

The silence between them is so thick it’s painful. “I didn’t mean to do that,” Marshall practically whispers, taking a step closer. When Ian doesn’t flinch, he reaches out and Ian takes his hand, stands upright again. “I’m sorry.”

Ian closes his eyes. “This is what I’m talking about,” he says quietly, voice carefully slow and even. “I want you to talk to someone.”

“I want to move out,” Marshall says suddenly. Ian looks up, just as thrown as Marshall feels.

“What?”

“It’s this apartment. I want to leave.”

Ian looks around as if whatever is bothering Marshall will just appear and announce itself. “What is wrong with the apartment?”

Marshall grits his teeth. He doesn’t know how to explain it any better than he did a few minutes ago. “It’s freaking me out. I just want to leave.”

“I moved down here, away from my family, to live with you here.” Ian sounds pissed.

“I don’t want to move back home. Let’s just get a new apartment.”

“We still have like four months on this lease.”

Marshall wants to hit something. “We can break it.”

“Marshall—”

“You asked me,” Marshall snaps. “You wanted to know, I told you. I think this fucking place is haunted. I want to move out.”

Ian takes a breath, seeming to steady himself. “Haunted.” Marshall just stares. “By what? I haven’t seen or heard shit.”

“But I have!” Ian is just not fucking listening and it’s pissing Marshall off. “I’ve seen shit, I’ve heard shit. This place is fucking with me or something. I want out.”

Ian takes hold of his upper arms. “Marshall, seriously.”

When Marshall shrugs him off this time, Ian doesn’t follow.

 

\--

 

It takes a day—and Marshall sleeping without the light on—before Ian talks to him again. They go out, meet the rest of the guys at a club where Ryan is doing a guest DJ spot. They aren’t going to be allowed to drink inside so Marshall and Singer do a few shots out back, like rebellious teens left home alone with their parent’s stash, while Johnson, Cash and Ian smoke up.

They hang around backstage and mingle on the floor while Ryan spins. Marshall dances with a couple girls and then once with Ian. They make it look like a joke, like they might be a little drunk, and take advantage, leaning against one another and letting their hands brush. Marshall doesn’t have it in him to look for cameras. He just really doesn’t care.

They spend a few minutes joking around in the parking lot, Ryan carefully avoiding looking in the direction of several girls so obviously waiting for him just beyond the security guards. Cash tries to jump onto his back and Ryan practically throws him off, laughing. Cash goes down hard, laughing the whole time.

He tears a hole in the knee of his jeans and Marshall has a flashback, painful and bright, to his nightmares. The faint blood, the crows and he shakes his head. He’s not going to think about this.

Afterwards, they head back to their apartment to hang out. “Marshall, come drink with me!” Cash calls. Ian has Marshall pressed up against their bedroom door, kissing him, both hands on his cock, jerking roughly.

“In a minute,” Marshall says back, voice shaky.

“Come on, Singer’s being a pussy.”

Ian drops to his knees. “Just a minute!” Marshall snaps, head thumping back against the door when Ian sucks him into his mouth. Cash grumbles, says something else that Marshall can’t quite catch. Marshall pushes his fingers into Ian’s hair, thrusting carefully into his mouth.

Ian just holds his hips, keeping his teeth covered and allowing Marshall to move.

Marshall slits his eyes open, looks down. Ian looks amazing, his lips moving over Marshall’s cock, slick and wet and liking, fucking _loving_ it.

He’s just this side of orgasm when Ian pulls off, digs his fingers into Marshall’s thighs and pushes them further apart. He leans in, mouths at his balls, sucks one, then the other, into his mouth. Marshall cries out, hand sliding against the door, searching for purchase.

He sees movement out of the corner of his eye. Just a shadow, just briefly. He clenches his eyes, holds the back of Ian’s head, pulling, urging him up. “Please,” he gasps. His arms feel cold, his neck pricks and no, no, this isn’t going to happen again.

Ian pushes down on his cock again, sucks him in deep and hums. Marshall comes, crying out and clutching at his hair. Ian pulls off after he swallows and Marshall doesn’t open his eyes until Ian is standing again, kissing him and Marshall can taste himself.

He jerks Ian off, lets him come against his hip, staining his jeans.

Marshall laughs a little. “We’re a little gross,” he says.

Ian huffs and rolls his eyes playfully. “We wouldn’t be if you’d swallow.”

Marshall chokes on his own laugh. His gaze catches on that vague movement again and he looks towards the bathroom. Ian follows his line of sight. Marshall is pretty sure they’re not seeing the same thing.

He closes his eyes again. “We should get back out there.”

Ian cups his cheek. “You all right?”

Marshall makes himself look, relieved when he doesn’t see anything other than Ian and his big, concerned eyes beneath his glasses. Marshall kisses him. “I’m good.” He thinks it’s more convincing since he didn’t freak out after they both came.

Ian lets him go, heads for his pajama bottoms. He strips down and Marshall heads for the dresser, kicking his jeans off as he goes.

His fingers tighten on the handles when he looks down and sees his blue and black striped tank-top folded neatly on top of his shirts.

 

\--

 

Ian has to fly home for his sister’s birthday. He’s only going to be gone for four days but Marshall really doesn’t want to be left alone at the apartment. Ian tells him he can come with him, that his family would be happy to have Marshall. But Marshall doesn’t want to intrude. He knows how little time Ian actually gets to spend with his family.

Ian makes sure that someone is going to at least see Marshall every single day and tells him to call him every night. Especially if he can’t sleep.

The first night Marshall can’t sleep for shit; he keeps all the lights on and locks the bedroom door. He tries not to get out of bed for anything until the sun comes up. He doesn’t call Ian; there’s no reason both of them should be awake all night.

Marshall sleeps through most of the day and leaves as soon as he gets showered and dressed. Cash meets him at a secondhand music store and they dig through vinyls and CDs until they’ve amassed a small pile each and debate on what not to get and what they can’t believe they’ve lived their entire lives without owning.

In the end Marshall goes home a little poorer, but thinks it’ll be worth it when Marshall gives Ian the Led Zeppelin III vinyl he found. The cover is battered and ripped but it’s straight out of the 70s and Ian is going to love him.

He and Cash spend a lot of time playing 360 Live with Singer and Johnson before they end up losing an epic _Halo_ battle to the two of them and Cash throws down his controller and shoves Marshall face-first into the carpet. They end up wrestling around on the floor for so long that when Cash finally flops down beside him, Marshall just stares up at the ceiling, panting. He’s pretty sure Cash elbowed him in the face.

He sniffs, hoping his nose isn’t bleeding.

“You’re still as pretty as ever, don’t worry,” Cash grins, rolling onto his side and getting to his knees. “Shit, it’s like four-thirty. I gotta go.”

Marshall’s grin falls immediately. “Why don’t you just crash here?”

“Nah, it’s cool.”

“You sure?” Cash is in the process of standing, hands on his thighs, when he stops, looking down at Marshall, who tries to look anything but desperate.

Cash’s eyes narrow a little. “Are you afraid?”

“No,” Marshall says immediately.

Cash stands up and grins down at him. “You so are. You chicken shit. Can’t sleep without Ian here to spoon you?”

“Fuck off,” Marshall mumbles, standing up and shoving Cash’s game box at him.

“Woah, hey,” Cash says, still smiling. “Just say you need me and I’ll stay.”

“I don’t need anything from you.”

Cash just stands there, grinning like a moron. “Say it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Say it.”

Marshall wants to just throw him out, but his mind is screaming at him and all he can think about are the nightmares, bloody noses and the shadows. “Stay,” he mumbles.

“What?” Cash asks.

And yeah, Marshall’s not eight. Cash can stay or leave, but he’s not playing along. Marshall turns on his heel and heads for the hallway.

Cash heaves a huge sigh and follows.

 

\--

 

Cash ends up staying until Marshall leaves to pick Ian up from the airport. He still can’t sleep, even with Cash passed out beside him, snoring lightly into Ian’s pillows. Marshall huddles under the covers and listens to the hallway creak and groan as though someone’s walking up and down it all night, and just hopes for morning. He’s never been so relieved in his life when Ian grins at him, steps into his arms and hugs him tightly.

Marshall listens as Ian tells him about his family, about how it rained the entire time he was there. Ian puts his hand on Marshall’s thigh and Marshall switches to steering with his left hand so he can slip their fingers together.

“Did you miss me?” Marshall asks at a red light, turning his smile on Ian. Things have been rough between them lately and Marshall might be a little more serious than he means to be. Ian leans across the console and kisses him until the car behind them honks. Ian grins at him and Marshall feels his own cheeks heating.

“You know I did,” Ian says, unnecessarily, taking Marshall’s hand again. “I jerked off to you every time I got in the shower.”

Marshall grins. “Yeah?”

“It’s fucking weird to even think about. In my parent’s house.” Ian groans, rubbing his free hand over his face. “So sick.”

Marshall didn’t touch himself once while Ian was gone, but he’s just going to blame that on Cash’s presence. He’d rather have Ian touch him anyway.

“Well when we get back I can help you out with that.”

“Yeah?” Ian asks, smiling lightly. He lets go of Marshall’s hand to twist a tuft of hair around his fingers; it’s barely long enough.

Marshall reaches back, takes hold of his wrist and brings Ian’s hand to his mouth. “Definitely.”

 

\--

 

Their plans are a little derailed when they reach the top of the stairs and their apartment door is wide open.

“The fuck,” Marshall hears Ian mumble. “Did you just leave the fucking door open?”

“No,” Marshall snaps, but doesn’t move forward.

Ian pushes past him. “Well obviously you did.” Marshall distinctly remembers locking the door

“I did not.” Marshall grabs Ian’s arm, holds him back. “Ian, there could be someone in there,” he hisses.

“Okay, so what do you want to do? Just stand here all day and wait for them to come out?”

Marshall grits his teeth to keep from saying anything. Ian pulls his arm away and turns, stepping into the apartment. Marshall follows him closely, checking all around, through the bedroom, closets, bathroom, kitchen, but there’s no one there and nothing looks out of place.

Marshall locks the door with the deadbolt and the chain lock.

Ian comes out of the bedroom in his sweats and a t-shirt with one too many holes. He refuses to get rid of it though, no matter how much Marshall complains when he sticks a finger through one of the rips when they’re making out.

“So,” Ian says, tapping his fingers against the wall and sighing down at his feet. “You wanna take a nap or something? I’m kinda tired.”

Marshall is exhausted. “Yeah, I guess.”

Ian holds out his hand and Marshall smiles a little when he takes it.

 

\--

 

Marshall is standing in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher, when he hears something fall over in the bedroom. Ian is asleep on the couch, remote control dangling from his loose fingers. Marshall freezes, a handful of forks clenched in his fist and he looks up. Nothing moves in the hallway, there are no shadows, no other sounds, just Marshall’s heavy breathing and the quiet drone of _Family Guy_.

Marshall puts the forks in their holder and continues on. He’s just finishing up, putting the dishwashing liquid in when the hair on his arms pricks and he gets the distinct feeling that someone is watching him. He looks up again, around the room, but there’s still nothing.

He closes the dishwasher and pads quietly into the living room, looking down the hallway. It’s only late in the afternoon, there’s plenty of sunlight filtering through the apartment, but he reaches over and clicks on the light anyway.

Marshall stands stock-still, eyes wide as the bedroom door starts to close and clicks shut.

 

\--

 

Marshall can hear when Ian shows up, can hear Cash’s mom talking to him, telling him to go on up. He’s sitting on the floor, playing _Grand Theft Auto_ while Cash texts from the bed when Ian knocks and opens the door.

“Yo,” Cash calls.

Ian waves and looks down at Marshall, who doesn’t pause the game or acknowledge him at all.

“Cash.”

“Hmm?” When Ian doesn’t respond, Cash looks up from his Sidekick and says, “Oh, yeah, right,” and hops down from the bed, heading for the hallway. “If you two are gonna throw shit, make sure it’s nothing of mine.”

Ian rolls his eyes at the door and Marshall finally hits the pause button.

It takes Ian a second to sit down beside him. He reaches over, pries one of Marshall’s hands from the controller and strokes his thumb over his pulse.

“Come home,” Ian says.

Marshall looks at him. “I told you, I’m not going back to that fucking apartment.”

Ian chews on his bottom lip, looking back down at their hands. His glasses are sliding a little low on his nose and Marshall wants to reach over and push them back up; but he doesn’t move.

“I talked to our landlord,” Ian says, looking back up and pushing his glasses into place and then ruffling his own hair. “He’s gonna let us out of the lease at the end of the month.”

There’s still two weeks to go before the first but Marshall feels so relieved that his legs fucking tingle like they’re asleep when he pushes up onto his knees and kisses Ian. Ian lets himself fall onto his back, holds Marshall close by the back of the neck.

“Thank you,” Marshall mumbles against his lips.

“Yeah, well,” Ian says, pulling back and carding his fingers through Marshall’s hair, pushing it back off his forehead so Ian can catch his eyes. “Don’t say I never do anything for you.”

“I’ve never said that.” Marshall’s smiling when the words leave his mouth.

Ian rolls his eyes again, but pulls Marshall down for another soft, slow kiss. “Just don’t ever say it.”

 

\--

 

They move closer to the Strip, which means a more expensive apartment, but it also means Johnson for a neighbor, because he moves into the same building a week after they do.

It’s a little smaller than the last one and someone has a dog that sometimes likes to bark at ass o’clock in the morning, but Marshall curls up to Ian every night and closes his eyes without fear of doing so.

The nightmares stop.  



End file.
